


severance

by kalos_kagathos



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Prison, can be read platonic or romantic just like in canon, rated m just in case for darker themes, unintentionally a dream character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalos_kagathos/pseuds/kalos_kagathos
Summary: He thinks about Bad a lot.There isn’t much to do inside such a small cagebutthink, so Skeppy does what he can: tucks himself away in a corner, savor the bits of light that shine through the bars, and tries to remember.Bad, hands gentle as he tends to his wounds. Bad, voice low and warm as he rambles at 3 am. Bad, smile bright and euphoric when he spars against Skeppy and wins.Bad, Bad, Bad.Skeppy lolls his head back, lets it rest against cold blackstone. He hasn’t slept for days, his stomach aches from hunger, and the tender part of his heart has been cut out and discarded.You’re getting hopeful, Dream had told him softly, almost sadly.I can see it in your eyes. It’s pathetic. Hope is useless down here.He misses Bad so much.--Or, the au in which Dream suceeds in collecting everyone's possessions. This includes Skeppy.
Relationships: Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 56
Kudos: 586





	severance

**Author's Note:**

> egg arc is not relevant/canon in this fic, and the same content warnings in the exile arc apply here. im not sure if a teen rating would've been fine, since the violence in this fic is pretty vague, but better safe than sorry!

Skeppy has felt powerless before. 

He has been beaten down to the ground mercilessly, match after match. He has been separated from Bad on the battlefield, injured and alone. He has grown accustomed to the taste of blood in his mouth, to the endless bruises on his knuckles. 

But never-- _never_ \--has he felt so utterly humiliated as he does now. 

He’s crumpled to the ground, legs too worn to muster the strength to stand up. His vision is blurred--from tears or a concussion, he isn’t sure. His arm is still throbbing from when it was wrenched back behind him, and the smell of blood is making his head spin.

Skeppy has heard people liken Dream to a god before, but now he’s starting to understand why. 

The cell that he’s in is small and cold, with barely any room for him to fully stand up. The only bits of light come from the redstone lamps hanging down the walls, and it’s just enough for Skeppy to make out the corridor he’s in. To the side of his cell, a fish pathetically circles in a too-small bucket. Ahead of him are pens that hold a cow and a brightly dyed blue sheep respectively. It looks like some sort of fucked up menagerie. 

“Where are we?” It hurts to talk; his lip is busted. “Why--why am I in here?”

Dream’s mask glints. “You walked in here yourself, didn’t you?”

Skeppy grits his teeth. “Only after you threatened my life.” His armor had been stripped, and Dream held a netherite axe. Usually he wouldn’t mind sacrificing one life out of three for freedom, but his lives aren’t just his to hold. If he dies, then Bad dies too, and the thought of causing Bad pain hurts more than anything Dream could inflict on him.

“Your cooperation,” Dream responds, mockingly, “was much appreciated.”

Skeppy bares his teeth at him. He wishes he had the strength to crawl over to the bars and spit in Dream’s face. “If it’s a ransom you want, then the Badlands won’t pay. Sam would blast this place to bits before you could even draw your sword.”

“Like the Badlands have anything I don’t already own,” Dream scoffs. “You’re just a pawn in a much grander game.”

“Yeah?” Skeppy coughs and wipes his mouth. Blood comes back on his hand. “Enlighten me, then.”

Dream tilts his head. His mask is eerily still. “Do you know why people on this server are vulnerable?”

“I don’t know,” Skeppy says dryly. “Might be the mortality of it all.”

Dream huffs out a laugh. “No, it’s nothing like that. Think back to the beginning. Why do you think the disc war started? Why did Wilbur lead a rebellion? It’s because of attachments. These petty values that people assign on their little objects and ideals, deluding them to risk their lives over it all.”

“Just get to the point,” Skeppy snarls.

Dream pays him no mind. “I’ve observed the people on the server quite a bit. Their relationships, their passions, their attachments...those are the keys to this world.” He moves away from the cage and gestures to one of the empty pens. “This is reserved for Techno’s horse. He’s one of the few animals that man cares about. That fish over there? One of Sapnap and George’s oldest pets. Of course, the discs are down here as well. Tommy and Tubbo are powerless without them.” 

“That’s all good and well,” Skeppy says slowly, “but that still doesn’t explain why I’m down here.”

“Oh, Skeppy,” Dream says softly. He kneels down so they’re eye to eye. “What’s the one thing Bad cares about?”

The air leaves Skeppy’s lungs, swift and painful. “You’re not--Bad doesn’t--”

“What else was I supposed to take?” Dream gives a shrug. “His pet salmon? You’d just replace it for him, before he even realized it was gone.”

“No,” Skeppy chokes out. His lungs struggle to breathe, because _this_ is his worst nightmare, more painful than the agonizing burn of lava, or the futility of spawn-traps, or the period of respawning after a particularly brutal death. “No, no, no, this isn’t going to work. Bad’s not gonna bend to your will just because of me, he’s smarter than that, he doesn’t love me that much--”

“You’re bluffing,” Dream murmurs. “We both know the truth. You don’t need to say it.”

Skeppy almost wants to cry from exhaustion. “You’re a little bitch,” he says finally. “Your lair’s ugly as hell too. Blackstone and obsidian? Really, edgelord?”

“Get used to it.” Dream gives him one last, long look, before he turns to leave. “You’ll be down here for a very long time.”

* * *

While Skeppy would like to call his new home a cell, he knows it’s more akin to a cage.

Dream makes it abundantly clear Skeppy’s worth is no more than the other objects and pets held hostage down here. Perhaps even less so, given the reverence he holds the discs in. Skeppy would be lying if he were to say it doesn’t sting. The Dream he remembers--the one who is forever laughing with his friends and who likes to watch dolphins play by the shore--has always been kind to him. He can’t tell whether Dream had changed, or if it had been a lie all this time.

His rations are sporadic and unpredictable, like Dream forgets that eating is a necessity of his. He’s never reached the point of starvation, but Dream is not against tossing an uncooked potato or carrot in the cage and calling it a day. If he leaves for more than three days, then he’ll leave behind a few golden apples, and their magical properties are enough for Skeppy to make it through a week. 

Their healing is a godsend, but Skeppy can’t help but wonder when Dream reached the level of power when he views golden apples as mere food fit for a prisoner. 

The worst of it, however, is not the small space or the lack of food. What hurts the most is the _loneliness_. He’s started talking to himself, desperate to hear a human voice. Part of him is even eager for Dream’s visits, because it serves as a reminder that he’s not alone, that there’s still a world outside this cage. 

The dependency scares him, but he doesn’t have the luxury to shake it. 

(Sometimes he hears Dream’s footsteps and thinks they’re Bad’s. Those are the worst days, the ones where he wears his fingers down red and raw from scrabbling at the iron bars. But Bad will never come, and Dream will never let him forget that). 

“This is pretty fucked up,” Skeppy comments to the blue sheep in the pen next over. He’s reached a brand new low today. “How are you faring over there?”

The sheep--it’s name appears to be Friend--blinks at him slowly. Their eyes are unnervingly intelligent for an animal. 

“Not a great conversationalist it appears,” Skeppy mutters. 

Friend doesn’t reply, thankfully. A talking sheep would’ve pushed Skeppy off the deep end. Next to them, Tommy’s cow, Henry, chews at a piece of dry hay. Dream is just as careless with the animals as he is with Skeppy, leaving them with nothing but hay and a few carrots when he’s feeling nice. 

Friend bleats pitifully. Skeppy’s heart pangs at that. He used to tease Bad for caring more about animals than his own health, but he can’t help but pity them, even if they’re blessed with more space than Skeppy. 

He grabs two of his golden apples and holds them through the bars enticingly. Henry’s ears perk up and he tilts his head at Skeppy expectantly. Friend bleats again and stamps at the ground.

“You hungry?” Skeppy coaxes them. “Want the apple?” It’s a bit tricky to get the angle right, but he manages to roll both apples over to the animals. Friend sniffs it hesitatingly before taking a nibble and Henry finishes his apple in two bites. 

That little action is enough to make Skeppy smile. “You guys are gonna be all right,” he says to them. “When we all get out of this, I’ll give you all the apples you could want, okay?”

Henry tilts his head and friend gives him a slow blink in response. They look livelier, happier. Perhaps...perhaps he isn’t quite as alone as he first thought.

Oh dear god, he’s _really_ starting to lose it.

* * *

He thinks about Bad a lot.

There isn’t much to do inside such a small cage _but_ think, so Skeppy does what he can: tucks himself away in a corner, savor the bits of light that shine through the bars, and tries to remember.

Bad, hands gentle as he tends to his wounds. Bad, voice low and warm as he rambles at 3 am. Bad, smile bright and euphoric when he spars against Skeppy and wins. _Bad, Bad, Bad_. 

Skeppy lolls his head back, lets it rest against cold blackstone. He hasn’t slept for days, his stomach aches from hunger, and the tender part of his heart has been cut out and discarded. 

_You’re getting hopeful_ , Dream had told him softly, almost sadly. _I can see it in your eyes. It’s pathetic. Hope is useless down here._

He misses Bad so much. He wonders how he’s doing, if he’s missing Skeppy just as much. He hopes not, because the ache in his own chest is almost unbearable.

If he closes his eyes, he can see Bad right beside him, with that exasperated look on his face he always has around Skeppy. If he were here right now, he’d scold him for being so reckless, then cup his face with a concerned hand and fret over him anyway. 

Usually Skeppy would bat his hand away, but, damn, he would give the world just to have Bad worry over him one more time.

_“You’re such an idiot_ ,” Bad would say, _How do you always manage to get yourself in trouble?_

_“Years of practice_ ,” Skeppy would reply, _“but you’re the one who sticks around, so what does that say about you?”_

To which Bad would scoff and roll his eyes and answer, “ _We can’t all choose our soulmates_.”

Here’s what Skeppy always thinks but never says: _But you did. You chose me. You gave your lives to me, and chose to intertwine our souls_.

He’s never been brave enough to voice it out loud. He’s never brave enough to say anything vulnerable outside of an _I love you_ , for that matter. But sitting here, knees tucked up to his chest, he’s starting to wish he did. He’s starting to regret all the days he lived without telling Bad how much he loved him. He just--he _misses_ him.

He curls a hand around his heart. Every beat, he shares with Bad. 

He sleeps a bit better that night.

* * *

When Skeppy closes his eyes, this is what he sees: White eyes, crinkled up in a smile. Black gloved hands resting on his. And the words: _You are safe. You are okay. You are home_. 

* * *

“I’m not the bad guy,” Dream says to him one day. His mask is cold and unyielding, but Skeppy has a feeling that, underneath it, his eyes refuse to make contact. “This is for the good of the server.”

Skeppy spits at him. 

Dream takes a step forward, unfazed. “I just want us to be a family again,” he says, and there’s a strange tilt to his voice that isn’t usually there--like Dream’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Skeppy. “I’m willing to make sacrifices for this server to be at peace again.”

“We were never at peace,” Skeppy replies in disbelief. “You were just in control.”

“Perhaps,” Dream says, “but we were happy.”

“You had friends,” Skeppy says tiredly. “Hell, _I_ was your friend. You’re delusional if you think you’re gonna get those days back.”

“You forget who I am.” Those black, lifeless eyes bear into Skeppy’s soul. “I built this server from the ground up with my bare hands. I can burn it to the ground and it will rise once more from the ashes.”

“Hope is useless down here,” Skeppy says. “You’ve said it yourself.”

“I don’t need hope.” Skeppy has forgotten how cocky Dream was, and it shines through even through the layers of apathy in his voice. "I have myself, and that's all I need." 

Skeppy has seen Dream bleed. His blood is red, just like his own. It’s such a simplicity that links the two of them, and Dream has forgotten it. He has humanity, and that knowledge is comforting, in a morbid sort of way. 

Dream can die, and that thought alone is enough to keep Skeppy alive. 

* * *

One month in, Skeppy almost makes it out. 

Something’s different that day. Dream is strangely upset and his movements are unusually clumsy. He unlocks the door to offer Skeppy some water, instead of pushing it through the bars like he normally would. Behind him, Ranboo's cat, Enderchest, hisses at Henry, straining against her rope to claw at the cow. Dream grits his teeth and turns to snap at the animals, leaving the door hanging open. 

Skeppy’s head may be pounding, his eyes may be desperate for sleep, and his bones may feel worn and old, but he knows enough to _run._

Dream lets out a noise of surprise as Skeppy desperately pushes past him, unsure where to go but _away_. He's so close to freedom, he can taste it. He's going to see Bad again.

But he hadn't taken to account what a month of inactivity has done to his muscles. His legs wobble and he stumbles, catching himself on the wall. He clutches at his chest, light-headed and lungs aching. Why is it so _difficult_?

It takes Dream barely any effort at all to reach out and slam Skeppy to the ground. Skeppy tries to lift his head up but Dream has a hold on his neck, forcing him down. “That was a good attempt.” Dream’s grip tightens and Skeppy chokes out a gasp. “I’m almost impressed you have some fight left in you.”

Skeppy’s arm flails in an attempt to push himself up. Dream clucks his tongue and stands up. “We’ll have to take care of that.”

Skeppy’s body won’t respond to him as he begs it to stand up, but he can hear Dream’s axe being drawn. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dream scrutinizing him, sizing him up like a predator to a prey. No, a predator to a particularly amusing bug. 

Dream’s axe falls. Skeppy blacks out.

When he comes to, he’s in the cage again, but this time, Dream’s beside him. He’s bandaging Skeppy’s hand with deft, professional hands. When he notices Skeppy staring at him, he explains, “You passed out from pain. I was expecting you to handle that.”

The retort on Skeppy’s tongue dies the moment his eyes are drawn to his hand. At first glance, his fingers looks unscathed, but--they look weird. Where his pinky and ring finger should be are instead two stubs, with blood already staining the white bandages. 

Skeppy thinks he might throw up. 

“Call this a warning.” Dream finishes bandaging his hand and stands up, locking the cage behind him. “And an incentive for Bad.”

Skeppy swallows. He feels more numb than anything. “What do you mean by that?”

“An extra pair of hands never hurt,” Dream replies. “And I told you, didn’t I? That you give me power over him.”

“If you _dare_ hurt him,” Skeppy growls, “there will not be a _day_ in your life where you don’t live in regret. I’ll make sure of that personally.”

“Funny.” Dream picks up his axe and straps it to his back, before turning to leave. “He said that too.”

* * *

When Skeppy closes his eyes, this is what he sees: A white mask. A simple smile. Fingers around his throat, pressing into his windpipe. And the words: _You will never be free. You will never be free. You will never be free. You will nev_

* * *

As time passes, the space around Skeppy’s cage slowly fills up with items Dream has fetched. Most of them are inanimate tokens that Skeppy doesn't recognize. Others are pets, like Quackity's skeletal horse or Puffy’s parrot. 

Today’s newest addition is a large white dog, ears drooped as Dream leads her in. She has a distinct yellow collar, one that Skeppy recognizes as hand-forged. 

“That’s Sam’s dog,” Skeppy says, heart dropping. “Fran. She’s--that’s one of the oldest pets here.”

“Mm.” Dream ties a chain around her collar. He’s exceedingly gentle in the way he handles her, and it makes Skeppy want to throw up. “Sam had her locked away quite safely.” He tilts his head towards Skeppy’s direction. “Bad helped me catch her.”

Skeppy’s throat goes dry. “Bad would never be complicit in something like this.” Bad may not always be a good person, perhaps morally grey at best, but Skeppy knows that he’s a nice person. He knows that, while he acts in ways that benefit the Badlands, he’s never cruel. And he’s certainly not cruel to his friends, who have unwavering loyalty to each other. 

“Bad is willing to do quite a few things for me, so long as you’re unhurt.” Dream finishes tying Fran to a fencepost and stands up. “His assistance is quite cheaper than Punz’s as well.”

“You’re so fucking sick.” God, the amount of times Skeppy has fantasized bashing that shitty smiley face mask into a wall. “You can’t just _use_ him like that.”

Dream gives a half shrug. “Well, I just did, so.”

“You loved him once,” Skeppy chokes out. “He was like an older brother to you. What _happened_?”

“Talk less.” Dream flicks off the redstone lamps. “You and Bad could both do to shut up more.”

“Just let me see him.” It comes out an exhausted, humiliating plea. “Please.”

Dream looks at him, almost in sympathy. “Attachments,” he murmurs. “See why I left them?”

* * *

Sometimes, Dream comes downstairs only to talk. He usually paces around Skeppy’s cell as he speaks, almost obsessively about the SMP and Tommy, and never sits down, never lowers himself to Skeppy’s level. At first, Skeppy would respond with snappy remarks, but now he just listens quietly. It’s never a discussion, anyway. Not with Dream.

Sometimes, Dream visits in silence. Skeppy hates these days the most, because those are the days Dream is most destructive. He’ll hurl his axe right into the wall, or destroy the ores he spent days collecting, or light a torch and watch as the flickering flames slowly burned into his skin. His mask betrays no emotion. 

There’s a part of Skeppy that still wants to help him, but self-preservation tells him to keep his mouth shut. He may be valuable alive for leverage, but that doesn’t mean Dream is against hurting him.

“...not enough loyal allies,” Today, Dream is muttering to himself as he scours a map. “Perhaps I call in Technoblade’s favor...no, not yet…”

“You need allies?” The sound of Skeppy’s own voice surprises him, and it surprises Dream too, who pauses to look at him. “I know you had a falling out, but where are Sapnap and George?” 

Dream slams a fist into the wall. The force is enough to have the bars in Skeppy’s cell shake. “Do _not_ ,” he hisses dangerously, “mention their names down here.”

Skeppy raises an eyebrow at the unexpected outburst. “Struck a nerve there, huh?”

“I could take one of your lives right now,” Dream snaps, and loads his crossbow in one fluid motion. “I know _you_ wouldn’t mind, but those lives don’t only belong to you, do they?”

Skeppy inhales sharply. “You--how do you know about that?”

“Bad was an idiot for choosing his source to be human,” Dream says, lip curling. “He lost himself to mortality the moment he started loving you.”

“He did give up his immortality for me,” Skeppy says quietly. “He gave it up so he could love, and to be loved back unconditionally. You’ve loved before, Dream. Do you miss it? Do you miss that vulnerability?”

“Only a fool exposes their bare back to another,” Dream hisses. “That _vulnerability_ you love so much is the reason you’re down here.”

“You act like living like _this_ \--” Skeppy gestures to Dream, “--is any better. You’re sick, Dream, and I mean that genuinely. You need _help_. You need Sapnap and George to--”

Dream’s crossbow goes off, and Skeppy freezes as an arrow lodges itself in the wall, mere inches away from his face. “I told you not to speak their names,” he says venomously. “I’ll cut off your tongue next.”

Skeppy only nods slowly. He knows a threat when he hears it, and Dream knows pity when it’s offered. After all, there’s no point in reaching a hand out only for it to be bitten off.

* * *

Dream hasn’t come back in a week. Maybe longer--Skeppy hasn’t exactly been keeping track, and his sleep schedule is too fucked up to be reliable. Skeppy isn’t sure where he is, but the last time he had seen him, Dream had been quieter than usual. He had looked around the corridor, at all the possessions he had claimed, then taken a swing of a health potion as if it were water and left.

Skeppy bites into a golden apple--his last one--and immediately warmth floods through him, soothing out the aches in his bones. His health has been deteriorating ever since Dream left, and no amount of golden apples can keep up. Even with one in his system, he’s still too weak to move from where he sits on the floor. After a few more attempted bites, he finally succumbs to exhaustion and lets his eyes fall shut.

The telltale grind of Dream’s elevator stirs him and he cracks an eye open. But instead of the usual silent footsteps, three voices echo back from the main hall. One is loud and upset, the other softer and plantative. The third is Dream’s.

He can’t make out the words, but the familiarity of conversation soothes him. He hasn’t heard one in so long.

The voices draw nearer. “--and if I have everything everyone’s ever cared about, then I can turn this server back to what it used to be.” That’s Dream. “Down here, I have a spot for everything.”

“The axe of peace?” Tommy’s voice. Skeppy would recognize that distinct drawl anywhere. The other voice must belong to Tubbo, then. “What is all this, Dream?”

“That’s Techno’s. The shulker box is for Punz. Bedrock, Beckerson, Mars…I have _everything_.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Tommy snaps back. “If you think you can get away with this--”

Dream laughs, and it vibrates through the floor. “Oh, I already _have_.”

As Dream leads the pair Skeppy instinctively presses himself against the far wall. He doesn’t know why the duo are here, but he can recognize today as one of Dream’s good days, and that terrifies them. Tubbo and Tommy both have one life left, don’t they? If he has to watch them die, helpless to do anything...

The footsteps halt at the cage and worn white shoes step up close to the bars. “ _Skeppy_?” Tommy lets out an incredulous laugh. “Why the fuck is there a sign for--oh my god.”

Skeppy can see the recognition dawn in Tommy’s eyes, and any other day he’d be sardonically amused. Now, he’s just tired.

Dream steps in line beside Tommy. His gaze is as cold as always. “That’s the one thing Bad cares about.”

Tommy stares down at Skeppy, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face--anger, pity, disgust--but he’s cut off by Tubbo’s cry, who just caught sight of Henry and friend. Tommy takes a jittery step back, like he doesn't want to tear his eyes away from the cage. “We’ll come back for you. Trust us.” Tommy murmurs, before stepping to join his companion. 

Skeppy doesn’t bother to muster the strength for a response. Dream will win. He always does. 

Tommy is now arguing with Dream, desperation coloring his voice as Dream keeps a blade steady at Tubbo’s throat. Skeppy’s eyes close once again, head pounding. He’s just so _tired_. It doesn’t matter what Tommy and Tubbo say or do, because when he wakes up, he’ll still be in this cage. 

Everything starts to blur again.

Time passes. He isn’t sure how much. He fades in and out, unable to stay focused on the confrontation going on outside. It takes the patter of more footsteps, louder and more frantically this time, for his lucidity to return. He can't quite make out what's going on, but something's rattling at the bars, and there's the clanging of swords in the background, and he can hear the soft utterance of a new voice: “ _He’s here_.”

The cage door clatters loudly and Skeppy jolts. He just barely registers a pickaxe being thrown to the side before someone wretches open the door and steps inside. He recoils on instinct, but the person kneeling down next to him is hesitant and patient and...familiar.

Warm hands grip at his face, gently smoothing back his hair. Skeppy squints, vision blurry, as a shadowed face and glowing white eyes slowly comes into view. “Bad?”

“ _Skeppy_.”

One word is enough to break him.

Bad’s voice has never felt so good to hear, not when he had been craving it so much. He tries to sit up straighter, to get a better look of Bad’s face, but his hands slip as they try to push themselves up, scraping on the blackstone floor. 

“Shh, I got you,” Bad soothes. He brushes a strand of hair out of Skeppy’s face, before hooking an arm around him and helping him sit up. “You’re safe now, it’s okay, I’m here.” He unhooks something from his belt and suddenly a water flask is at his lips. Instinct takes over as Skeppy drinks clumsily, the fog in his head clearing a little. “You’re doing great,” Bad encourages him. “Just a little more--that’s it.”

“Bad--” Skeppy’s voice cracks. He can’t do anything but stare at Bad’s face, drinking him in and memorizing the light of his eyes, the points of his horns, the little fangs just barely visible in his mouth. 

“I know.” The smile Bad gives him is small but it’s the most beautiful thing Skeppy has seen in months. He squeezes Skeppy’s hand gently. “I’m sorry I took so long, but I’m here now.”

“We gotta get him out of here.” Someone standing above them clears her throat. Puffy? “I don’t have any healing potions on me.” She has a netherite sword drawn protectively, shielding them both from whatever looms outside. “I can’t believe Dream would stoop this low.”

“I know.” Bad’s voice is quiet, but his eyes hold cold fury as he follows Puffy’s gaze. Skeppy can hear raised voices from out of there and the distinct clatter of swords. He tugs at Bad’s sleeve, and Bad’s anger immediately melts as he refocuses on Skeppy. “What’s wrong?”

“Get me out,” Skeppy croaks. His voice is sore from disuse so he swallows and tries again. “I need to--Dream, is he--”

Bad bites his lip, worried, exchanging a glance at Puffy. “Don’t exert yourself, okay? Just hold onto me.”

After that, it comes and goes in flashes.

A secure arm around his waist, supporting him so he can walk unsteadily out of the cage. 

A kiss pressed to the side of his head, endless murmurs of reassurances. 

Dream, mask cracked down the middle. Skeppy meets his bare eyes for the first time. They’re so incredibly _dead._

Tommy’s grin of victory, but there’s something else behind it. Something hollow and worn and tired. Skeppy recognizes it. 

Bad doesn’t let him watch as Sam, Sapnap, and Punz escort Dream out to the prison. Instead, he presses Skeppy’s face to his chest, wrapping him up in a steady hug. It’s for the best. Watching Dream, broken and defeated, makes him feel nothing but emptiness where there should be glee.

The group Punz led begins to disband, heading back through the nether portal, reclaimed possessions in tow. Ponk lingers behind to steal the gold off Dream’s floor and Ant has been entrusted in taking most of the pets back. Ranboo has Enderchest in his arms as he leafs through a book, expression unreadable. Puffy and Eret escort Tommy and Tubbo out, who are glued to each other’s side. 

“Is it over?” Skeppy stumbles and Bad catches him. He touches a hand to Skeppy’s face and wipes off a tear he didn’t know was there.

“It’s over,” Bad whispers. His voice is so gentle and loving that Skeppy’s knees shake all over again. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Recovering is harder than Skeppy expected.

Bad has to help him around the house because his muscles start shaking when he least expects it. He’s fussy, almost overwhelmingly so, as he instructs Skeppy on which potions to drink and what physical activity he’s limited too. But Skeppy never complains, especially when it still feels so raw and new to see Bad’s face again. 

Healing his body is hard, but healing his mind is harder. Skeppy swears he can hear Dream’s voice mocking him every time his legs give out and he’s forced to grip onto the nearest counter for support. There are days he forgets to eat and drink, since neglecting his body is so ingrained into him now. On the worst days, he can see Dream’s haunting smile every time he closes his eyes.

(Bad will stay up with him every night. It’s more than Skeppy could ever ask for).

“You’re doing a lot better,” Bad encourages him, on a particularly rough day. Skeppy had asked to finally try out sparring, and the sword had felt clunky and unfamiliar in his hands. Bad didn’t even need to break a sweat to beat him. “Remember your first week home? You were asleep half the day.”

Skeppy rubs his neck. “I was tired,” he admits. “It was hard to sleep in there.”

“I know--” Bad pauses. “I know it’s nowhere near the same as what you experienced but..for what it’s worth, I couldn’t sleep while you were gone either. Just having your presence missing from the house was too much.”

Skeppy cracks a smile. “Is that why you keep falling asleep at my bedside?”

Bad flushes and looks away. “I’m also trying to protect you! What if you wake up scared? Or what if a skeleton shoots an arrow through the window? Or if Dream--” He cuts himself off.

“Dream’s not coming back,” Skeppy reassures him. “He’s locked up for good.”

Bad stares down at his hands. “I know. But I can still hear his voice in my head. No one knows that I helped Dream,” he says quietly. “So many of the items and pets that ended up in that room were put there by my hands.”

“That wasn’t you,” Skeppy insisted. “Dream held our lives against you. No one would fault you for that.”

“Sam doesn’t know,” Bad whispers. “Neither does Ant. I can’t--I can’t tell them.”

“You don’t need to.” Skeppy folds his hands around Bad’s. “It’s in the past now. We can put it behind us.” That’s not what Bad wants to hear, he knows. 

“I’m sorry.” Bad shakes his head. “I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

“Let me?” Skeppy asks. 

“Okay,” Bad agrees. He looks more worn than Skeppy has ever seen him. “I’m not very good at it though, you’ll have to be patient with me.”

“I would wait a lifetime for you,” Skeppy promises, and Bad laughs because it sounds so overdramatic and silly, but Skeppy has enough experience to know he isn’t kidding, so he just laughs along too. 

* * *

A month later, Skeppy’s well enough to walk outside of the house by himself. Bad still hates it when he wanders too far, but Skeppy manages to convince him that the heart of the SMP is safe grounds. 

The sun is just about to set as Skeppy walks up the worn wood of the Prime Path, steps still a bit shakier than he would’ve liked. Tentatively, he sits down on Tommy and Tubbo’s bench. The SMP sprawls out beneath him, brightly lit and bustling even as night falls. Skeppy’s breath catches, ever so slightly. It has never looked more beautiful than it does right now. 

“This is technically my property.” Skeppy turns his head to see Tommy plops himself down next to him. “I could get you arrested for trespassing.”

“Arrested by who?” Skeppy raises an eyebrow. “Eret’s knights?”

Tommy hesitates, thinking. “I honestly didn’t know Eret _had_ knights.”

“I hate this SMP,” Skeppy mutters. 

Tommy tilts his head, like, _can’t blame you_. They fall into comfortable silence, Tommy uncharacteristically quiet. It's nice.

“I visited him in prison,” Tommy says suddenly. “Did you?”

Skeppy shakes his head. “No. I don’t know what I’d do to him if I saw him.”

“Fair enough,” Tommy replies nonchalantly. “He just looked so...I don’t know, he looked so _lonely_.” He kicks at a pebble beside his foot. “And I know that he’s manipulating me again and I know he deserves every punishment that comes to him, but...fuck, I can’t help but feel _sad,_ y’know?”

“Yeah,” Skeppy says. “Yeah, I know.” He thinks back to all the times Dream would come and talk to him, as if desperate for validation. “I think he...he likes that. Likes having other people dependent on him.”

“Huh,” Tommy says. “That’s kind of fucked up.” At Skeppy’s incredulous stare, he says, “Yeah, I get how that sounded, he’s been very much _fucked up_ , I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Don’t let him get to your head,” Skeppy tells him. “If you start pitying him, I’ll head over to the prison and curb stomp that motherfucker into the obsidian.”

Tommy grins. “Yeah? I’ll hold you to it.” They sit in companionable silence for a minute more, before Tommy’s leg starts to bounce, restless, and he clears his throat. “Well. I think I’m going to go vandalize various properties with signs that read ‘dick’.” He stretches and stands up. “I’ll save your mansion for last, though.”

“Thanks,” Skeppy says, cracking a smile. “I’ll make sure Bad isn’t there to stop you.”

Tommy contemplates him. “You’re not as bad as I thought.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Skeppy waves a hand. That’s as much of a compliment as he’ll get from the kid. “Go have fun. Don’t forget to be in bed by nine.”

“Never mind, go fuck yourself,” Tommy spits back, on beat, but waves at him all the same as he leaves. Skeppy watches him fondly. Despite the scuffles he gets into...Tommy’s not a bad kid. 

Afterwards, he continues to walk along the wooden path by himself as the sun sets. Dream had laid these planks down himself, back in the early days. He was--still _is_ \--the backbone of this world. Perhaps that’s why he seems so godly, so untouchable. 

(Skeppy knows he’s mortal. He’s seen those flaws and bruises closer than anyone else has. He is weak, and Skeppy can see that now.)

“Skeppy!” Arms wrap around him in a hug and he almost misses a step, surprised. He relaxes into the embrace even before he registers the voice, and has to fight off a smile from spreading. “What do you want, Bad?”

Bad tightens his hold around him. “What, a demon can’t miss his best friend?”

“You’re so clingy,” Skeppy chides him.

Bad immediately drops his arms and steps away, pouting. “Fine,” he says sulkily. “Walk alone, I guess.”

“ _Badddddd_.” The affection in Skeppy’s voice is obvious, even to himself. He runs to catch up with Bad and links their hands together. They fit together perfectly, as usual. “You know I don’t mean it.”

“Promise?” Bad asks.

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Skeppy hesitates. “Depends on which hand. I _am_ missing a pinky on my right one so--”

“I don’t know why I ever bother with you,” Bad tells him, “I should've just walked the other way and left you and your ungratefulness alone."

Skeppy shuts him up by resting his head on Bad’s shoulder. Bad stills in his tracks and reaches up to ruffle his hair gently. “Skeppy? Everything okay?”

“Mm.” Skeppy lets his eyes flutter shut and finally-- _finally_ , after months and months, lets his guard completely down. “Can we just--stay here for a little bit?”

Bad lets go of his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulder and tug him closer. He turns his head slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss in his hair. Standing here, like this, they truly feel like one soul. 

Finally, Bad nudges him gently. “Ready to go home?”

Skeppy takes in a shuddering breath, lets it settle in his lungs. Fresh air still feels like a privilege, but his shoulders are lighter than they have felt in months. His scars are fading, and the chains around his ankles don’t drag quite as much as they used to. 

He lifts his head to look at Bad, outlined in the fading sunlight. He looks so kind and wonderful and _real_. “I’m ready,” he murmurs, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like a lie. 

**Author's Note:**

> i laughed so hard at the skeppy cage that i wrote 6k of angst
> 
> anyways forgive me for the clumsy writing, i wrote most of this at 3 am but i decided it was good enough to post <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stupid Fight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706933) by [Atol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atol/pseuds/Atol)
  * [a dark star (falling away)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762163) by [Oceantail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceantail/pseuds/Oceantail)




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